


Vindico Nihil

by FleshDust



Category: Darksiders (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, Apocalypse, Blood, Cruelty, F/M, Pain, Painful Sex, Physical Abuse, Rape, Slavery, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-11
Updated: 2015-06-11
Packaged: 2018-04-03 21:52:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4116178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FleshDust/pseuds/FleshDust
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Apocalypse has ravaged the world, but little spoils of War can still be found in the ruins left behind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Vindico Nihil

**Author's Note:**

> It's been quite some time since wrote this story the first time around, and even longer since I played the Darksiders games. This is another rewrite, you see. Because of that, some of the canon contained herein might be completely wonky. I know that my timeline isn't technically correct, but I am very fond of warping canon to fit my own twisted needs, so there you go. This depraved story has religious elements in it, and like many other things, they end up rather gruesome once I am done defiling them. So if that should offend you, you should probably mosey on out of here.

* * *

 

 

The Scalding Gallow greeted War with the same dead desolation as always. The Earth was truly deceased now, left with the remnants of the Apocalypse that had ravaged it.

The Seventh Seal had been shattered and the skies were weeping with the ashes that were the remnants of the scourging fire. Ironically, he had been implicated as the genesis of this of this cataclysm and marked for extermination. It was strange, really. He and his siblings were the harbingers of the Judgment. And now in this final hour, he himself, a Horseman, was on the brink of divine judgment and possible extermination.

War gave a slight shrug, refusing to ruminate over the events that had led up to this moment. It mattered not. All he needed to do was to find his siblings. Wage war against the powers of Heaven and Hell, perhaps. Despite his bitterness towards both realms, he could not deny a small flicker of pleasant bloodlust within him as he imagined his blade cleaving the flesh and bone of Angels and Demons alike.

They all bled the same shit, didn't they.

He gave a small curse then when he spotted a Serpent Hole, a sure sign of the presence of the Demon merchant, Vulgrim. However, the portal was inert and dead, its demonic proprietor nowhere to be found. That miscreant had closed the portals that War used to travese worlds, and his trading outposts were as deserted as anything else. He knew that Vulgrim had some business down in the Pits after the Destroyer had fallen, so here he was, without the luxury of hell-aided travel. He was, pathetically enough, reduced to shuffling this defunct realm like like the undead, the last remnants of humankind.

They were all around him, these gangrel caricatures of their former selves, moaning with breaths that smelled of rotted innards. In truth, the purulent wisps of stench that emerged from them weren't really breaths, not like the respiration of living things that needed air in their lungs. Rather, they were simply puffs of air that happened to emerge when they attempted to voice the only possible thought bubbling in the useless sludge inside their craniums. The thought of flesh.

_Flesh, flesh, flesh._

Flesh of the kind that they were after did not exist in this earthly realm anymore. The flesh of the living. The undead were simply doomed to shuffle around idiotically until their bodies turned to dust, never being able to sate their hunger. He scoffed in amusement at their pathetic misfortune and smote a few of them upon the cracked concrete. Their decomposing innards painted the stone with rotted, black blood.

The undead had gnawed and slashed at him a fair amount of times, not able to differentiate between a live creature and what he was. But his inutile flesh could not sate their hunger even when they managed to claw out a chunk of it. They would gnaw stupidly at their prize until he slew them where they stood. If his flesh perished, the undead would only find him resurrected, ready to slaughter them anew.

And so he did. But these undead wretches were very little sport. He picked one up by the throat, a female this time, noting how disgusting and dead and sagging all of its gray-green flesh was, barely clinging to its bones, ready to slough off in decaying globs at any time.

He crushed its head as it jerked feebly in his grasp. It did not even have the mind to realize that it was being slain. He tossed the rotted ruin of its body aside, chunks of putrid meat tearing off as its twice-damned corpse skidded along the concrete. A couple of its fingers popped off completely. He found some satisfaction in stomping them like vermin until the brittle bone crunched and squelched underfoot.

He heard more of their moans in the distance, tempted to follow them just to slaughter some more. It was one of the few joys of this dead world, really. But then his eyes caught movement again. In the second story of a crumbling building nearby, something flashed by the window, quicker than the undead. His pale, irisless eyes narrowed underneath the shadows of his hood. His hand sought out the massive sword that had served him so well. Chaoseater, his steel companion. If whatever creature that lurked in there was something Hellborn, his bare hands would not do like they did on the undead. He looked forward to some blood. Demon's blood, black and bitter on his face as he reveled in the kill. Doing what he was supposed to do. Doing what he was, and he was War.

* * *

He reached the second story of the building in very little time. A few more undead had arrived at the bottom of the pillar that he had scaled to reach the ruined second floor of the building, but he left them alone for now. They were nowhere near cognizant or mobile enough to climb after him. Whatever was up there would have the honor of being butchered, and the shuffling corpses below would be seconds. And thirds. And so on. Deftly, he clambered into the building and found the location where he had seen the thing.

There was a fair amount of rubble in the room, some of it overrun with invasive demonic growth. Ruined furnishings were piled in a corner. Even if he had not seen the indication of footprints on the dusty floor, showing him the way, he knew that it was hunched behind the pile in the corner. He could sense its presence immediately where it huddled, waiting to pounce on him. He advanced slowly, already savoring the slaying that was to come.

However, he halted completely when he was only a few feet away from the rubble. The scent of the creature had reached him, and he knew straightaway that it was no Hellion, nor was it undead. He hadn't smelled such a thing for a long time. Without preamble, he drove Chaoseater into the pile of rubble, obliterating its hiding spot and summoning a scream of terror from the creature.

He was right. But they were all supposed to be dead. And this one wasn't.

It was human. Female. Crying, cowering on the floor beneath him and pleading incoherently. It was filthy and pale, pathetically small with dirty dark hair and watery eyes the color of gray, dead flesh. He wasted no time and grabbed the thing by the white column of its throat.

It was novel, really, that this thing was alive when all of its comrades had been reduced into a pathetic state of non-living.

Its small hands clawed desperately at his gauntlets, eyes bulging, the tiny pale mouth choking out pleads of mercy. He released it with disgust and it fell to his feet, coughing and gasping. Within a moment, it tried to make a run for it, but War was faster and fueled by wrath eternal. He backhanded it until it fell to the floor again.

He did take care not to us the same amount of strength as he would had it been a non-human being. Such force would have killed it instantly. However, when he struck it, it still fell unconscious, sprawling on the floor like lifeless animal. It would even be less sport than the undead. What a disappointment.

* * *

He took a closer look at it now when it was quiet and still. It was dressed in filthy rags, a pair of human militia-style breeches and a black tunic-like garment that the dust had rendered gray.

Underneath the fabrics, he could sense the shape of a grown female with round hips and a small bosom. Its face was now flecked with blood following his attack. He wiped some of it away with his fingers, not out of concern, but mostly out of morbid curiosity. He hadn't seen one of these creatures in a long, long time. Then the scent of its— _her_ —blood reached him. It lingered in his nose, smelling of vitality and a type of innocence that all of these earthbound creatures possessed, no matter how tainted by sin their souls may be. Not even Angels, supposed paragons of purity, smelled like them.

The blood held a faint trace of the scent of her soul, as well. The energy of souls always allowed him to grow in power, sending pleasant jolts through his body as he collected them. It was comparable to the joy he received from killing, but far more pleasing and stronger. He had only ever collected the souls of the undead and those of the Hellborn. The scent of her soul was intoxicating, it made his fingers itch to rend her body open and claim it.

Her female form disturbed him a little, however. He could remember a time, eons ago, when he had possessed something called lust. It was no secret, every single otherwordly creature was cursed with that particular urge, even though they did not act upon it as often as their human counterparts. It was simply not productive.

There were those who gave into their too-humanlike urges often enough. He knew that Uriel and Abaddon had been lovers, a word that to him, was somewhere far in the foggy distance with other things that he didn't need to understand.

He also knew that Vulgrim had sometimes kept demons of lesser rank at his heels, both male and female. The demon merchant would then slake any lust that might befall him on their writhing bodies in a spectacle of obscene lechery. War had arrived at Vulgrim's outposts a few times and witnessed the couplings. The demon merchant cared little, even inviting him to partake occasionally. War had declined, mostly because the act did not interest him in the least. Vulgrim's penchant for such libertine fornication did not surprise him, however. Demons had a well-deserved reputation for indulging in any debauchery that they may think of. Some of them were notorious for lusting after the forbidden fruit that was humankind, swearing that there was nothing like defiling a live human.

There was Lilith, ranked highest among the succubi, her taste for man-flesh neverending. One of the Seven Prices of Hell, Asmodeus, was Lust personified, known to copulate with males, females and beings that were neither. Countless others did the same, as well. His own kind had rarely indulged in such activities, he mused, but realized then that he was not certain. He could not say what other Nephilim whittled away their time with, and for all he knew, they'd be rutting with whatever they could when the mood struck. While he could remember having some strange stirrings that could possibly be defined as lust, it had been eons since he had been interested or bored enough to act upon it. He could not even recall with who or what he rutted with, or if it had been male or female. He had realized quickly that his true prerogative was far more interesting.

However, when the world was dead and the forces were at war, spoils could naturally be indulged in if one felt so inclined.

War felt no particular emotion towards the female on the floor. He realized that there was some type of curiosity within him as he surveyed her small body. At first glance, he felt nothing akin to desire. Even when he concentrated on her exclusively female features and focused on her small breasts, he felt nothing. His mouth twitched with irritation. The whole thing was simply foolish. As a last resort, he kneeled by the female and allowed his hand to close around the rounded softness of a breast. There was... _something_. Recollections started to come back to him of some beings that he had coupled with. Their forms and faces remained shrouded in oblivion, but those things were unimportant. He inhaled very deeply when his ancient body remembered, and suddenly the body of the human thing was far more appealing. He had made his decision.

He pondered if he should just remove her coverings and proceed with his experiment while she was unconscious. While it would probably be kinder towards her, the notion was not appealing to him. Somewhere deep within him, he knew that he wanted her screaming when he did this to her. It would be a satisfying middle ground between killing and copulating. The corners of his mouth fluttered when he realized that she was waking up.

* * *

The flint-colored eyes found him almost immediately after a moment of unfocused confusion. They grew wide with terrified recignition and she started to scramble backwards still on the floor. But before he could pursue her again, she grew still. Her face was uncertain. Her mouth worked for a moment before she spoke.

"You're not... like... like them?"

Her voice was small and frightened. Her question sounded almost like a wish.

He looked down at her, cocking his head. He was several heads taller than her, and his body was much larger in general, bulky and infused with the strength of the Nephilim. His armored hands were jagged horrors and matching plates of the same dark armor adorned his body. A red hood shadowed the face where only white eyes pierced the blackness. Pale, silvery hair like cobwebs hung from the confines of the hood.

War allowed a rare smile to grace his hidden features for a moment before responding.

"If you are speaking of the demons and undead crawling about this cursed world, no, I am not like them," he replied, watching her face slacken with a relief that he knew would prove false.

"Are you here to save me? To make things as they were?"

He snorted at her presumptuousness. Billions had been obliterated and she still hoped for salvation and some kind of rebirth into a world that was everything that this dead world was not. Granted, such hubris should not have surprised him, humans were well-known for just that.

"No, child. I am not here to save anything."

"But you said.... you're not like them. You said," she insisted stupidly, as if not being Hellborn automatically meant that he was the fucking Savior. He smiled, a bit more nastily this time.

"No, child, I am not like them," he said, pausing slightly. "Perhaps... I am _worse_."

Terror contorted her face again and she started to weep. It was a noise that was full of horror and the blackest despair.

"Our Father, who art in Heaven, hallowed be thy name..." she sobbed with a trembling voice.

"He does not listen, child," War told her, but she continued.

"...Thy kingdom come, Thy will be..."

“ _My_ will be done!" War snarled viciously, and within a second he had grabbed her and pulled her into himself, his terrible, pale eyes piercing hers.

For once, she was silent as she was face to face with him, even though her fear had increased exponentially. He could smell it flowing out of her pores .

"My will is what should matter to you right now," he growled in her face. "For you have been left behind when your fellows were destroyed. Perhaps this is your final judgment, child... and I am the one to deliver it to you."

She stared at him, looking exceptionally bovine just then. Dark strands of her hair had glued themselves onto her dirty cheeks where her tears had made cleaner tracks. She cringed a bit at his massive hands around her waist.

"Why?" she whispered. "Why would you... torment me like this? What have I done?"

He released her, but maintained a firm grasp on her upper arm.

"Nothing," he snapped. "You should be glad that I am sentient enough to converse with you. If I was one of undead, or even the Hellborn... your flesh would be naught but viscera on these walls."

"Please," she begged. " _Please_ , deliver me, without pain. I am afraid... I am afraid to kill myself, I don't want to go to Hell. And I'm scared of the things out there. I've seen them... I've seen them _eat_. I don't wanna die like _that_."  
  
War considered her for a moment. He did not know if she was bound for the Pits or Above, nor did he care much in particular. He could examine her soul to see what stained it, but he didn't bother. She did have the right of it though, a suicide would plunge her into the Pits immediately and punishment would be meted out accordingly. But it wasn't something he would mull upon. Beyond consuming the energy of her soul, he had no interest in what befell the sentient part of it. The simple truth of the matter was that he could experiment this whole sensation of lust with this female thing, and anything else of hers was not important. The act would hardly be mutual, he suspected, but that was not his concern.

He hadn't even really realized that his midsection, usually a completely inutile area, had awakened as he crushed the girl against him. He could smell her breathy whimpers and her dark fear as it came off her in little wafting ripples, and things within him surged.

"You wish to be killed swiftly and without pain, do you?" he asked, at which she nodded.

"I shall deliver you, then," he told her, at which a small smile actually broke through the girl's mask of fear.

"But first, you will serve me."

"How?" she asked hesitantly.

"Like you would serve any male of your own kind..."

* * *

At this, she tried to bolt. It never failed to amaze him when any prey that had been marked by him did that. As if they would not be hunted down, as if they would actually manage to get away. When he grabbed her this time, she fought him, cursing and screaming, and he found that he liked it. It was similar to killing. Ripping something from someone who was loath to part with it.

He slammed her into a wall next and a fine dust sifted down from some cracks in the ceiling. Covering her with his body, he then growled quietly at her.

"My will be done," he whispered in her ear. "And then you shall have your deliverance."

"God," she choked out, "Oh my _God_."

He found this amusing.

She was praying silently when he pushed her to the filthy floor. Flipping her over on her stomach, he decided that this would be the most appropriate way to go about it. This was how animals rutted, he knew, and if Lust wasn't a sensation to turn Men and those who were not Men into beasts, he didn't know what was. She attempted to get up once or twice, at which he shoved her down flat again, her face flush with the dusty floor.

He crouched behind her and his gauntlets roamed up to yank her oversized trousers asunder. When he did, she whined with fear and he felt his loins swell hotly at her distress. Memories of similar noises from partners both willing and unwilling came to him, and he could almost, almost feel the physical sensation of violating a writhing body. It was a strong incentive. Her white little behind was before him now. There was a shadowed, clefted mound in between the rounded halves. The sight made him grit his teeth as recollections of fornications came back to him.

The urge to simply thrust into her warm, live flesh was powerful. It commanded him to break her and split her and ruin her. It would be a bit like thrusting a sword into a body and feeling it hack through the insides. As he started to remove his armor in the necessary places, she spoke instead of blubbering incoherent hysteria.

"Please, just kill me, when you're done... just kill me, okay?"

He looked at her with cold eyes as where she lay, face down, mumbling into the grit on the floor. He removed the plates that needed to be out of the way for their union. He grabbed her hair then, forcing her up onto her hands and knees. Pulling her dark mane taut, he leaned over her.

"I shall," he growled into her ear.

He heard a sigh of gratitude right before he claimed her. The sigh turned into a scream of agony as he pushed his thick, engorged flesh into her in one, seamless motion. He did not stop until her behind was flush with his deathly pale hips. Even then, he ground into her a bit further, reveling in her delicious cries of pain and the way her taut insides twined around him. He noted then that she was bleeding, the red scent of her soul smearing her thighs and his own skin.

He grasped her waist then, and he realized that he was indeed much larger than males of her kind. He could nearly close his palms around her waist completely, and the way she wailed and bled at his intrusion must have meant that his flesh was far too large for her body. He only thought it was an excellent thing. Another weapon to cause ruin with.

He continued to rock in and out of her even when her arms gave out and the only thing suspending her lower body was his grip on her. Now and again, he would fuck her harder and faster until she howled almost endlessly, sounding sweetly broken and tortured. She started to fall into unconsciousness a few times, but he would simply yank her hair again until she was lucid, and continue to fuck her.

Then the resumed her praying. Her pitiful litany was expelled through gritted teeth with a voice that was hoarse from screaming. She mumbled in labored hisses as War forced himself into her as deeply as he could, causing her to lose her breath. His low, raspy groans of pleasure accompanied her prayer.

"Our Father... who... art..."

His massive flesh felt like it was on the verge of bursting as her tight little passage clenched around it. Her pathetic praying only fueled his insane desire, and he started to pump into her faster again, determined to fill her until she begged to be killed.

"...Who art... in Heaven..."

Her words came out in tormented grunts now. He forced her upper body aloft again by pulling her hair back, her back arching. He ordered her to turn her head to the side slightly so that he could watch her plight as he fucked her. Her wet face was crumpled with panic and pain, her pale lips glistening with blood and condensation.

"...Hallowed... be Thy... name..."

He was close to release now. With his free hand, he spread the folds of her feminine flesh to watch her bleed and to watch himself disappear into her body.

"... Thy... kingdom... come..."

She was sobbing the litany now, crying in complete misery. Before she could finish her entreaty, War felt his lust culminate. A knot seemed to come undone in his midsection and he pushed as far as he could go into her. It summoned a final scream from her as he felt his flesh penetrate something it shouldn't, damaging her beyond repair and spilling burning, sterile fluid deep into her abused body.

"My will be done," he growled as he felt the last of his seed pour into her.

He dislodged from her then and sank back on his heels to rest for a moment. He decided that the undertaking had been well worth it as he stood up to retrieve the armor pieces that he had removed. He cast a glance at her where she lay on her stomach, weeping silently, seed and blood slipping out of her. There was a great quantity of blood. Even without his aid, he expected her to expire very soon. He had clearly felt the damage that his body had inflicted on her.

He shrugged and busied himself with replacing his armor. By the time he was done, she had lapsed into a delirium of sorts and was mumbling like a drunkard.

"You said... you'd kill me...when you were... done..." she reminded him, her skin turning paler by the moment and her lips approaching a violet color.

War nodded.

"So I shall," he agreed, and he saw relief on her dying face.

He stepped closer to her and hovered over her broken body. She laid her face against the floor again, waiting, yearning for what was to come. It didn't matter to her how he killed her, and at this point, even speed was rather negligible. Nothing could be worse than the agony she felt when he fucked her. She moaned with gratitude when a jagged thing was driven deep into her back, stealing the breath from her lungs. She waited for the darkness, mumbling her prayers, hoping that beyond death, she would find a place where there was no more suffering; no more dead places and monsters.

But then something terrible happened. She felt the pain from the thing lodged in her back radiate through her body, transforming into a remedial heat that galloped through her limbs, dispatching the agony from his defilement of her. The site where the weapon had been stabbed into her closed as well. Cracked bones and torn ligaments knitted back together, and she stopped bleeding, her nether regions seemingly healed again. The blood dried on her skin in seconds and peeled away into nothingness like flaking paint.

"What...what have you done!" she cried, desolate, as she sat up and examined herself.

Above her, the Horseman regarded her with a kind of sick satisfaction.

"Life Essence Shard," he told her. "I plunged it into your back. It will heal you and bring you back from the brink of death."

"But you said... You...!"

She stood up, her fear forgotten, utter rage replacing it. She had been cheated out of the one thing she had desired for so long. It was something that she had desired long before this horrid creature claimed her so sadistically. She had resigned herself to his brutal attentions without more of a fight only because he had _promised_ that she would die by his hand.

"You said... you would kill me when you were done!"

"I will," he said, his voice neutral and unnervingly calm. With his pale eyes glowing in the shadows, he told her, smiling: "However, I am not done with you yet. I enjoyed our activities. And I think I shall continue to do so... for a while." 

A howl of grief, anger, and humiliation tore from her throat. She sang out at him in full fury with all the epithets she could muster, her terror completely gone. After all, what could she fear after this horror? What could she fear after being fucked until her insides split, salvation so close that she could taste it, only to have him bring her back? The thought of repercussions in the hereafter had often stayed her hand from suicide, yet now she realized that such self-destruction wouldn't even be possible unless this white-eyed behemoth _allowed_ it. She wouldn't even be able to throw herself at those non-living ghouls as a free meal if he did not want her to. She felt sick, defeated, and most of all enraged at being swindled in such a cruel way.

She flew at him then, full of impotent rage. She snarled and hammered at his body with her tiny fists. Her efforts were laughable and War didn't even flinch. Instead, he grabbed her by her wrists with one hand and retrieved something from his robes with the other. Finding it, he looped the thin, black chain around her neck. He pulled her out of the room and through a large, shattered window, gliding down to the street on his terrible shadowed wings, holding the female in his arms. The noises that came from her were a combination of angry screams and wretched sobs.

Once down on the ground, he simply pulled her with him. The female was half-naked in her old tunic that he hadn't bothered to remove during their interlude. She would be immune from freezing and such human ailments for a while, and when the effect of the Shard wore off, well... he had become quite the expert at finding them. She kept protesting and cursing him, but he paid her little attention as he started to sense something familiar. His head jerked up. Abruptly, he changed direction and increased his pace with the hissing female stumbling after him. War had just sensed his brother, Death, in the vicinity.

"I've got three siblings," he informed the female. "They will be very pleased to meet you, I think..."

The undead in the streets continued their useless, grim song for flesh as War dragged his prize into the distance where his brother waited, an armored hand above his head, waving a greeting.


End file.
